The Crown of Love
by camaelczarka
Summary: Jimmy won't ever love Thomas, but Thomas will always love Jimmy.


When Jimmy told Thomas that he could never give him what he wanted, Thomas understood that. He did- _really_, even if the wording was strange, or even if he could never decipher what the looks on Jimmy's face meant after that; it was not important. He'd said what he meant. He was not lying, and Thomas would never dare think otherwise. Whatever questions Thomas had about the whole encounter did not matter. Jimmy- well, Jimmy did some strange things sometimes when he was puzzling something out. And that was all there was to it.

Jimmy was _odd,_ though, when he wasn't being nasty. Nastiness was something Thomas understood. Jimmy Kent was not something understandable. He _was_ nasty, sometimes- especially when working. And sometimes he was unaccountably kind, for no reason, and then all at once he was coldly distant, and all in the space of one game of cards, or one meal, or one conversation. But especially with Thomas, his moods ranged from warmly affectionate to very standoffish. He could never understand _why_ Jimmy behaved in this manner, but he knew it had to be something to do with himself.

_He's your friend, and then he remembers what you are, _Thomas reminded himself. _Or, he remembers how you feel about him. _Each time Jimmy was distant or cool with him, he thought of this, and told himself to step back, or to not smile so much, or to be less familiar. And then the moment would pass, never mentioned aloud.

And yet sometimes Jimmy would smile at him when they spoke, when they had private conversations, and the smile would be like a small secret they shared. It was a smile that reached his eyes, turning them into half-moons, and transforming his face with it's brightness, and it was so infectious that Thomas could not help but smile back, even though he reminded himself that it was dangerous to indulge in. He was aware that Jimmy was not thinking about how he made Thomas feel, and any reminder would put him off.

"I won't ever love you." Jimmy said, one day. It was spring and they were walking back from town. Thomas stopped and turned, surprised. He had said nothing of the sort. They had not been talking about love. In fact, they'd been talking about the flowering trees that were shedding their petals all over the road.

"I _know that_, Jimmy." He said, confused. It did not matter, in a way. Jimmy was there and he loved Jimmy and so it was the most stable relationship he'd ever had. It didn't matter if that's all there was to it. "I wasn't thinking you would."

The words hurt- not that he'd been holding out for any hope. He knew how Jimmy felt. Their relationship was one based on friendship and the mutual understanding that they would only ever be friends. Perhaps he'd been too affectionate or solicitous. He made sure they were at least an arms length apart as they walked.

"Good." Jimmy nodded, resolute, as though he'd gotten something off his chest. "Because I don't understand it, really. Can you _love_ another man? I mean, not just _you_, but can a _man_ love another man?"

"Yes." Thomas nodded. He swallowed and looked ahead of them. He could not look at Jimmy's face. "Obviously."

"But how do you know it's _real_ love?" Jimmy asked, as though their conversation was perfectly acceptable. Thomas was immensely grateful that there was no one else around. The new leaves on the trees rustled gently in the breeze.

"I just _do._" Thomas answered, and for a moment, he almost took it back, because Jimmy had not been talking about _them_, per se. His face felt hot. "I mean- how would _you_ know? Have you ever been in love with a woman?"

"No." Jimmy answered, sounding chagrined. He fell silent for the rest of the walk.

But Thomas did wonder about that question. How _did_ he know what he felt was real? He _knew_ it was _real,_ it had certainly haunted him enough for the last two years. It had grown from attraction to obsessive lust and then, when he was at his lowest- and should have cast all thoughts of Jimmy aside- it became love, _real_ love, not just the want of love, or the idea of love. He just didn't know how- or _why_ he was so sure that this time it was real. More real than anything he'd felt before. Too real to get over. He'd just started living with it and that was the best he could do.

One night, they were alone in Jimmy's room. The door was propped open in a vain attempt to air out some of the summer heat. It was always like that up there, no matter what; when it was warm the dry old attic rooms soaked up the heat all day, barely cooling by the time the sun rose again.

They sat on the floor, where it was coolest. Jimmy was playing solitaire. Thomas was smoking and reading the newspaper. It was far too hot for sleep, but they were both too tired to do anything but sit idle.

"I thought about what you asked." Thomas said, before he could think better of it.

Jimmy looked up from his cards slowly. "Hmm?"

"You just _know._" Thomas went on, sleep deprived. "You know that you love someone, because-" He looked up at Jimmy, just to bring all the emotions to the surface, but then he looked down at his newspaper again. "-it never goes away, and you feel like you have this, this _wound_ or this _illness_- well, not quite like that, because it's precious to you, you know? It's like this little weak spot, but it's important, because even though it's the worst thing you've ever felt-" He looked up at Jimmy again. Jimmy's eyes were focused on him, unblinking, and he almost lost his nerve. "-it's- ah- it's also the best thing you've ever felt. And you try to do anything in your power to make yourself worthy of that- that person's time. And you know- you know that you would do anything-"

He looked up at Jimmy again, but Jimmy's expression was blank, and he knew suddenly that he'd said too much. "I'm beat." He said, instead. He felt it all of a sudden, too.

Alone in his room, Thomas shook his head at himself. _That was monumentally stupid, _he thought, but at the same time,_ he did ask._

Things were strained between them after that. Jimmy was never familiar or affectionate with him. He was always distracted when they spoke. After a while, Thomas stopped trying to engage him in conversation. Sometimes Jimmy would speak to him. Often he simply looked pained by their interactions. _He can't ignore how uncomfortable you make him, now that you've said all those things_, Thomas told himself.

They grew apart. Thomas did not know he could feel such a depth of pain from something so simple before. Not even after the year they hadn't spoken. Not even the moment of Jimmy's rejection of him had hurt as much as this. He still loved Jimmy just as much. More, maybe. Always more, gradually increasing with time.

Abruptly, Jimmy announced one day during breakfast that he was leaving. Mr. Carson nodded as he spoke, clearly having already known. He'd gotten a new job in a different house. He did not say where. Thomas watched him across the table as he spoke. He smiled through congratulations and brushed off the numerous well-wishes and expressions of sadness at his leaving.

At last, his eyes flicked over to Thomas. He had no idea what look must have been on his own face, but Jimmy looked upset, stricken almost, and then his gaze dropped to the table, and he said nothing more.

That night, Thomas knew that he could not keep his distance. If he truly were to never see Jimmy again, he had to at least talk to him once, like they used to. He felt pitifully betrayed by Jimmy in that he hadn't mentioned his plans to him at all. He hadn't even mentioned considering another job. But then, they hadn't spoken in anything but a professional capacity in months.

He knocked on Jimmy's door. Jimmy did not answer for a long few seconds, though Thomas knew he was inside from light peeking under the door. He almost turned and left, but he found he couldn't will his feet to leave. _I have to talk to him. I have to just talk to him once, and then I can let him go._

Soon, he heard Jimmy's muffled voice call to him through the door. "Come in," he said. He sounded terse. He must have known who was knocking.

"Jimmy-" Thomas came in the room, holding up a hand in the air. He left the door open a bit behind him. Jimmy was leaving in a week, but he already had some of his things packed and the crates were arranged in an empty corner. He stood awkwardly in the center of the room, keeping his distance from Thomas.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Thomas asked. Jimmy turned his face away.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barrow." He turned back, a tight smile affixed to his face. "I only told Mr. Carson until I was sure I got the job. But now you know, same as everyone else."

"But-" Thomas couldn't think of anything to say. _He doesn't want to be around you, and he's made that abundantly clear._ "But where are you going? Won't you tell me where I can write to?"

Jimmy opened his mouth as if to speak. His eyes were cast down to some point by the foot of his bed. "Of course, I'll write to say hello to everyone once I settle in." He looked back up and smiled again.

"I don't understand-" Thomas said. He had to leave, before he made any more of a fool out of himself than he already had.

Jimmy shook his head, and stepped closer. "I won't ever love you, Thomas." He said, his voice soft and quiet. "So you'd better stop loving me."

Thomas left the room after that. He could not bear to stay.

The day that Jimmy left, Thomas packed a small suitcase and went after him. His hands shook as he threw shirts and pyjamas and whatever else he might need for a night. He wasn't sure that he'd even packed anything wearable, but he took off into the driving, bitter autumn rain. He searched for Jimmy for hours, in town, in Ripon- he thought of getting on the train to London, but that was a whole city, and he had no idea where Jimmy had gone. He could have gone to London. He could have gone to Spain or the moon for all he knew.

He frantically started asking people at the train station- but it had been hours, and Jimmy was long gone, and he'd never told Thomas where he was going, and quite deliberately at that. By the time he returned to Downton, he was freezing cold and sopping wet, and rain had gotten into his suitcase and stained a few of his shirts. He went into Jimmy's room and sat on the bed, and felt the emptiest he'd ever felt. Jimmy was gone forever. _Forever. _

He sat in the room half the night, and cried until he could not cry, and felt his heart break- or more like shatter- or really, maybe it was the same as before. _It's just that I love him so much now, so much more than I ever have before._ And it didn't matter if Jimmy was here or there, because he loved him more with each passing day, just the same.

He sat at Jimmy's desk and wrote a letter. It was incomprehensible and pockmarked with tear stains.

_I love you so much, I love you and I will never stop loving you and I need to you come back, please won't you just come back, and I will never speak another word about loving you, I just have to be near you-_

_Please come back. Please. Please Jimmy just come back._

He folded the paper and stuffed it into an envelope. He addressed it to Jimmy Kent, but there was nowhere to send it, and he would never send it besides, so when he returned to his room, he tucked it into his own desk and laid numbly in his bed.

They'd hired a new footman before Christmas. He was thin and of average height, with dark hair and delicate features. He smiled at Thomas, often. He was young, as well- if Jimmy had been young, this boy was _far_ too young for Thomas.

"Hello." He smiled when he introduced himself, and his hand lingered maybe a bit too long in Thomas's. "My name is Jonathan."

Thomas felt very old, all at once.

It seemed very wrong when Jonathan moved into Jimmy's old room. The empty room had almost become a comforting presence across the hall. A dark weight in his heart. He could close his eyes at night and feel it just out of his reach, just like Jimmy was now. A last link to he who Thomas loved dearly. Now that had been taken from him as well. He couldn't sit in silence in Jimmy's empty room. He was sure he'd be allowed _in_, but that was another story entirely.

Jonathan was nice enough, if a little obvious. Thomas could not help but compare him to Jimmy, as though he'd been ruined for all other men. His hair was too dark, and his eyes were hazel, and his chin was too pointy, and he smiled too easily, and he winked at Thomas when he passed by.

Maybe he would spend the rest of his left comparing everyone he met too Jimmy. _Mrs. Patmore's a great cook, but she's got nothing on Jimmy in the looks department. _He laughed aloud to himself in the kitchen. Mrs. Patmore looked concerned.

Eventually, when Jonathan became too forward, Thomas had to turn him away. He felt weary at even entertaining the idea of anything at all with the new footman. He just _could not_. It was as simple as that.

"I'm like you." He tried to explain. "But I can't, I'm sorry."

Jonathan looked put out for a few days, but Thomas spied him chatting up a hall boy. _Yes, far too young, indeed_, he thought. Those days were long gone by.

Anna and Bates had a daughter by April. They left Downton soon after, to open up a bed and breakfast in the village. They visited often.

Thomas spent the better part of the summer filling in as valet. He did not mind, in fact, he did not mind anything that kept him busy. He understood now, how a person could waste their whole life pining away for someone they would never have. There was no other alternative.

He thought of Jimmy almost religiously. A little prayer throughout the day, remembering his voice or his smile, or the times when they had been close. It was all tinted golden in his memories, and he could easily forgive the times when Jimmy had been short with him, or when his eyes strayed off into the distance, or when he abruptly ended a conversation. It was fine, all of it. All of it had been perfect.

Jimmy had never written. Thomas was unsurprised. He had not expected any letters. Jimmy made it very clear that his leaving was final. He'd gotten a nod goodbye, and that was all. It was an image that was etched very clearly into his minds' eye. Jimmy nodding, Jimmy picking up his suitcase, Jimmy turning to leave.

Thomas wrote letters, though, often, and placed them in his desk drawer. Over time, he'd regained his eloquence, and managed to detail out so many things- so _many _things that he had run out of things to say, and had to write about everyone else in the house, as though he and Jimmy were old friends and they were just catching up. He would fold up each letter, and stack in neatly in the drawer with the others. They were all he had of Jimmy, and they weren't even _from_ him.

He spent hours sometimes, rereading his own letters. Pretending Jimmy had recieved them- well, _some_ of them. Pretending he had written back.

Mr. Carson hired a new valet. He'd conducted the interview over the phone, and when he announced this one morning at breakfast, several members of the staff had balked at how unconventional it was to hire someone without meeting them first, Thomas included. Mrs. Hughes said nothing, but sat, opened mouthed for a few moments, trying to form words.

Mr. Carson held up a hand to forestall their protests. "He comes _very_ highly reccommened." Thomas was sure that Hell had frozen over.

The new valet arrived on a Wednesday afternoon. Thomas was in the corridor when he heard exclaimations of surprise and laughter and shouts coming from the servant's hall. He turned away by instinct- he was not friends with anyone there, and whatever comraderie they were sharing, he was sure he had no part in it.

But Daisy ran out and headed straight for him, beaming. She grabbed his arm and made to drag him into the room. "You haven't met the new valet, then, have you?" She asked, tugging him across the floor.

"No…" He said, and allowed himself to be lead into the servant's hall. "But he must be Father Christmas to have everyone so worked up-"

Jimmy stood in the hall, by the table. He was surrounded by people; Alfred was next to him, shoving his arm, Ivy was stepping away after kissing him on the cheek, Mrs. Patmore was standing in the doorway to the kitchens, looking a bit misty, Mrs. Hughes was laughing and patting him on the cheek. Even Mr. Carson seemed vaguely happy.

Daisy returned to the group, leaving Thomas rooted on the far side of the room. He couldn't bring his feet to move. His heart was hammering in his chest. But he and Jimmy may as well have been the only two in the room, the way Jimmy looked at him. He looked past everyone else, his eyes locked on to Thomas's, a smile on his face. A _real_ smile, the kind that turned his eyes into little half-moons. He nodded, once. Thomas would remember that moment for eternity. Jimmy standing in the doorway. Jimmy smiling at him. Jimmy nodding at him.

"You look so well, Jimmy!" Ivy was saying.

"That's Mr. Kent to you, Ivy." Jimmy said, his eyes leaving Thomas's reluctantly.

But he _did_ look well. He looked amazing. He looked like the best thing that Thomas had ever seen. He was dressed as a valet, in all black, and his face was very kind, and his eyes weren't distant, they focused on everyone when he spoke to them. Thomas had noticed it before, the way Jimmy tended to look past everyone when they spoke- but he thought it was just his way. He looked mature, grown up. Thomas did not feel so old anymore.

He summoned the nerve to step closer. "Jimmy." He said, nodding.

Jimmy inclined his head, speaking as if only to him. "Hello, Thomas." He said.

They didn't speak again for the rest of the night, but Jimmy sat next to him while they ate. He was pestered with questions throughout the meal, which he answered gladly. He'd been hired valet in a smaller house a few hours away. He was glad to be back. He had missed everyone. When he answered that question, he let his arm brush against Thomas's.

In his room that night, Thomas knew he had rarely felt such happiness. He knew that he had a ridiculous grin plastered on his face, but he did not care. Jimmy was back, and he'd moved into the room next to Thomas's. Thomas pressed his hand against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling the weight of his prescence next to him. Things would go back to the way they had been, when they had been good.

He did not hear footsteps in the hall, but he heard the soft click of his door opening, and he looked over to see Jimmy slipping quietly into his room. He was so quiet that Thomas wondered if maybe he were witnessing some sort of apparition. He wore his only his pyjamas and he looked so the same that Thomas thought that maybe Jimmy had never really left at all, and that he'd only just woken from some terrible dream.

But Jimmy smiled at Thomas, and when he spoke, the low sound his voice resonated in his chest, and Thomas knew it was all real.

"I didn't get to give you a proper greeting, yet." Jimmy crossed the room, standing before him, just an arm's length away.

"Hello." Thomas said, dumbly, because he could not think.

Jimmy bowed his head. He reached his hands out to Thomas, and Thomas raised his own hands, clasping them to Jimmy's before he could think to do otherwise. "I'm so _sorry_, Thomas." Jimmy went on. He voice became a strained whisper. When he looked up, Thomas could see that his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. "You must be so angry with me."

"No, no-" Thomas shook his head. "I'm not."

Jimmy stepped closer, running his hands up Thomas's forearms. "But you should be. I left because I was afraid."

Thomas could do nothing but stand still as Jimmy's hands travelled up to his shoulders. Jimmy stepped closer, and was embracing him, suddenly, and Thomas felt his resolve give out. He clutched on to Jimmy desperately, as though he would be swept away from him if he did not hold on. He dropped his head to Jimmy's shoulder, and Jimmy's arms squeezed tightly across his back.

"I'm so sorry, Thomas, and I hope it's not too late." Jimmy whispered in his ear. "I hope it's not to late to tell you that I love you. That I've loved you this whole time."

Thomas wept. He felt foolish, but then Jimmy was crying as well, and Jimmy was kissing the side of his face and running his fingers through Thomas's hair.

They stood together for a long time. Thomas managed to compose himself and he leaned away, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "What did you say?" He asked. He'd heard it but he could not trust himself to believe it.

Jimmy's hand rested against his cheek. His face looked sweet and gentle and pained all at once. "I love you." He said, and stood on his toes, touching his mouth to Thomas's, the softness of his lips pressing his own.

"I love you." He said again, as he began to unbutton Thomas's shirt.

"I love you." He whispered against Thomas's skin, when they lay together in the small bed.

"I love you." He said later, breathless. He rested his head against Thomas's chest, and pressed his palm over Thomas's heart.

"I love you too." Thomas answered, holding him close on the narrow bed. "So much, Jimmy. I never stopped."

"I don't deserve that." Jimmy whispered. "But I'm so happy that you still do."

And so, things were not as good as they had been before, but they were much, much better. And Jimmy was never cold, and Jimmy did not leave the room abruptly, and Jimmy's eyes never held the unfocused distance they had so many times before. And they were always together, after that, and Thomas's love for him grew, even then, stronger and greater over time.


End file.
